


Lunatics

by illbeshootinformyownmontparnasse



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Cosette is rich and invites her friends over, For the sake of this one-shot Javert and Valjean are together as the Fauchelevents, Lord Byron - Freeform, Lunatics, M/M, Percy Bysshe Shelley - Freeform, Poetry, Romanticism, Swimming, lake house
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-06
Updated: 2013-07-06
Packaged: 2017-12-17 21:49:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/872307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illbeshootinformyownmontparnasse/pseuds/illbeshootinformyownmontparnasse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s when he’s out there that he hears a splash coming from near the end of the dock.  He looks around frantically, eyes landing on a small thin flashlight.  He clutches it like a lifeline and switches it on.  “Hello?” he calls out timidly.  There’s no reply, only cicada buzzing and small splashes in the lake.  “Hello?” he tries again with slightly more authority.  Nothing.  He shines the light around and slowly opens the screen door to investigate.  “Is someone out there?  Ah, shit.”  A thought occurs to him.  “I’m in the first five minutes of Supernatural, aren’t I?”  His breathing speeds up a bit as he continues toward the docks.  He hears more splashing.  “I—what?”  He steps on something.  Something…made of fabric.  Something patterned.  Something very ugly indeed: a raven print tank top.  He takes a few more steps, puzzled.  “Jehan?”  There’s another piece of clothing near the end of the dock.  Courfeyrac walks towards it.  It’s a pair of teal pajama shorts with mint-colored swordfish and drawstrings.  His brain finally catches up with the circumstances, and he realizes.  “Jean Prouvaire, are you swimming naked in a lake at two in the morning?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lunatics

**Author's Note:**

> Anon requested from my Tumblr account

               _Damn my bladder_ , Courfeyrac thinks to himself as he shuffles down the hallway to where Cosette had pointed out the bathroom earlier.  A glance at his phone reveals the time to be a little after two in the morning, and he certainly would not be awake had his need to pee not wrenched him from a rather pleasant dream involving Ryan Steele and chocolate chip pancakes.  His stomach grumbles.  After he finishes in the bathroom, he decides to attempt to find the kitchen to rob the Fauchelevents’ pantry.  This is, however, easier said than done; Cosette’s fathers’ lake house is colossal.

               The first attempt takes him into a guest bedroom; the second takes him into the wine cellar; the third takes him onto the patio.  It’s when he’s out there that he hears a splash coming from near the end of the dock.  He looks around frantically, eyes landing on a small thin flashlight.  He clutches it like a lifeline and switches it on.  “Hello?” he calls out timidly.  There’s no reply, only cicada buzzing and small splashes in the lake.  “Hello?” he tries again with slightly more authority.  Nothing.  He shines the light around and slowly opens the screen door to investigate.  “Is someone out there?  Ah, shit.”  A thought occurs to him.  “I’m in the first five minutes of Supernatural, aren’t I?”  His breathing speeds up a bit as he continues toward the docks.  He hears more splashing.  “I—what?”  He steps on something.  Something…made of fabric.  Something patterned.  Something very ugly indeed: a raven print tank top.  He takes a few more steps, puzzled.  “Jehan?”  There’s another piece of clothing near the end of the dock.  Courfeyrac walks towards it.  It’s a pair of teal pajama shorts with mint-colored swordfish and drawstrings.  His brain finally catches up with the circumstances, and he realizes.  “ _Jean Prouvaire, are you swimming naked in a lake at two in the morning?_ ”

               There’s a splash from slightly behind him and to the right, and a small head pops up from the dark lake water.  “Courfeyrac?”

               “Are you naked?”

               “What?  No!  I still have my underwear on.  What are you doing up?” Jehan says, bewildered, treading water.

               “I’m up for a perfectly legitimate reason.  What are _you_ doing up?” Courfeyrac asks, crossing to where Jehan is now pulling himself up onto the dock.

               “Did you know,” he stands up gracefully because he’s Jehan and everything he does is the prettiest thing in the entire world, “that it was an old belief that if the moon shone on you while you were sleep, it sent you mad?  That’s where we get our word, ‘lunatic.’  It literally means moon-sick.”

               And goddamn, if it isn’t so like Jehan to go swimming in the middle of the night just because there’s a full moon and it might make him crazy.  Courfeyrac can feel his heart swelling with just a smidgen of love for this strange boy who is standing in front of him, dripping wet and wearing nothing but a pair of black briefs.

               “You can join me, if you wish,” Jehan adds, wringing out his long pastel pink hair.  “Clothing optional.”  His eyes turn mischievous, and there’s the feisty, intrepid side of Jehan, and Courfeyrac is one hundred percent done for.  Jehan could ask him to hide a body with that look in his eyes and Courfeyrac would not be able to refuse him.

               “This is the story of how I died,” he mumbles as he lowers himself into the water, wearing only his American flag boxer shorts, and, okay, yeah, it feels pretty nice.

               “Nonsense!” Jehan chirps from the dock above him.  “Statistically, you’re more likely to die on the car ride home!”

               “Thanks.  That makes me feel loads better.”  Jehan laughs and takes a few steps back before running and leaping over Courfeyrac’s head, creating a splash that seems too much for such a small boy.  After a few moments, he surfaces.  “You’re ridiculous.”

               “And you’re no fun in the morning,” Jehan teases, kicking his legs and leaning back so that he floats on the water.  Courfeyrac can’t stop staring.  “You just gonna tread there, or are you gonna come swim with me?”  Courfeyrac laughs and swims over to where Jehan is lying on the water. 

               “You’re really gorgeous in moonlight,” Courfeyrac says, and he traces a pattern on Jehan’s wet chest.  Jehan shivers.

               “Art thou pale for weariness/Of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth/Wandering companionless/Among the stars that have a different birth/And ever changing, like a Joyless eye/That finds no object worth its constancy?”

               Courfeyrac wants to kiss him.  “Who’s that?”

               “Shelley,” Jehan says as he turns so that he’s treading water next to Courfeyrac.  Courfeyrac could count the freckles on his nose.  Water is clinging to his pale eyelashes in droplets.  Courfeyrac really wants to kiss him.  Jehan bites his lip and tilts his head, and, yes, that is the go sign, and Courfeyrac kisses him, and, Jesus fuck, it’s hard to kiss when you’re treading water to stay afloat, but holy hell is it worth it, because Jehan is _purring_ into his mouth, and his lips are so soft, and when he nips at Jehan’s lower lip, Jehan makes a sound in the back of his throat that goes straight to Courfeyrac’s cock and has him diving under the water, kissing all over Jehan’s chest and hipbones, until Jehan pulls him up by his upper arm.

               “Not tonight, Courf,” Jehan laughs.  “Tonight, I am not Jean Prouvaire, called Jehan.  Tonight I am Lord Byron, and I am in Geneva, and I am daring the black waters of the night to pull me under.  I dare the lightning to strike me.  I invite the Faerie to come and greet me.”

               “You’re so hot when you’re Romantic,” Courfeyrac mumbles before kissing him again, curling one hand in the poet’s pastel hair.  They kiss for what feels like hours before Jehan’s shivering gets too intense to ignore.

               “Sorry,” he gets out between chattering teeth, “it’s freezing.”

               “It’s summer.”

               “It’s night, and I’m wet.  Let’s just go in.  We can cuddle,” he offers, knowing that cuddle time is truly Courfeyrac’s weakness.

               “Damn you.”  Jehan presses a kiss to Courfeyrac’s cheek before climbing up the ladder.

               Courfeyrac is following him when he hears, “Shit.”

               “What?”

               “ _Shit._ ”

               “ _What?_ ”

               “I didn’t bring a towel.”

               “We’ll just put our clothes back on.”

               “Courf, we are wet.  No.”  There’s a slight pause.

               “So, you were going to go swimming, but didn’t think of a towel, hmm?”

               “I am a poet. We think of everything.  I may have displaced the thought,” Jehan says haughtily before scooping up his clothes and jogging back towards Cosette’s lake house.  Courfeyrac laughs and follows him.

               They try to be quiet when they get inside, but Bahorel is snoring up a storm, and Joly is twitching a bit, and they can’t help but giggle.  When they get to the staircase, Combeferre is standing there with mussed dark hair, glasses perched crookedly on his nose, wearing a white T-shirt and a pair of black scrub pants, holding two towels.  “There’s a hair dryer in the upstairs bathroom,” is all he says before handing them the towels and walking past them to rejoin the others in their slumber.

               They giggle again before heading up the steps to the upstairs bathroom.  Courfeyrac tries to dry Jehan’s hair, which makes him shriek a bit before Courfeyrac shushes him, laughing.  They strip, and dry themselves.  Courfeyrac tries not to leer too much before he notices Jehan doing the exact same thing.  They kiss for a bit, but finally end up with their original clothes on, sans underwear.  “Can I braid your hair?” Jehan asks, and of course, Courfeyrac can refuse him nothing.

               “Only if I can braid yours.”  Jehan laughs and starts weaving together Courfeyrac’s very short hair into very small braids, using rubber elastics from the bathroom to tie the ends.  When he’s finished, he sits down in front of Courfeyrac, who attempts to braid Jehan’s hair.  It looks nothing like the fishtail braid Cosette always manages to create out of Jehan’s hair, but Jehan allows him to tie it off, kissing him and claiming that he thinks it’s beautiful.

               They finally go down to the lower floor to sleep, and they cuddle together in Courfeyrac’s sleeping bag.  When they wake up the next morning, they can’t help but laugh.  They both look utterly ridiculous.  “Bunch of lunatics,” Bahorel mutters before turning over to go back to sleep, and Jehan gives Courfeyrac a smug look.


End file.
